


Not of Time

by Fire_Bear



Series: Time is Fickle [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, London, M/M, Romance, Set in 2013/2014, Time Travel, Victorian!Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland is walking home late one night in London and, when he discovers a strange, green glow in the alley he is using as a shortcut, is suddenly transported to a new world. But is it a new world or is he still in London? And why does the American man who takes him in insist on calling him a Victorian?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea Time

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my "Sorry-I'll-Update-Eventually" stories from ff.net.
> 
> There are a lot of historical notes to go with the chapters, by the way and, since I can link things in the notes on AO3, there will be links to the websites I looked at from chapter 4 onwards.

Darting through the dimly lit streets, Arthur held his cane above the cobbles. It would not do to attract attention with the noise of it striking the hard ground, even if this _was_ the more upmarket part of the town. His boots, however, made constant noises as he hurried along. He had not meant to be so late but the dinner had dragged on and, afterwards, in the smoking room, the conversation had held him back.

Pausing under a lamp, Arthur pulled out his pocket watch and clicked it open. It was nearing midnight. He really hoped the housekeeper had put Peter to bed. The boy may have been upbeat and mischievous most of the time but he was still ill and needed his rest. Arthur bit his lip and hurried off again as he slipped the watch back into his coat pocket. His cloak fluttered behind him and he nervously glanced around. After all, London may have been much more advanced than anywhere else but he remembered the fear of the Ripper and he had no desire to die needlessly.

As he passed by Trafalgar Square, he glanced at the Column, rising up above him. He still didn't exactly understand why they had decided to put Imperial Measures in the Square. Surely everyone knew how long a pole was? With a sigh, he hurried past the large lions.

A horse and cart trundled by, the man tipping his hat to the gentleman in the street. Arthur touched his top hat in reply, wishing that he had taken his own transport instead of firmly deciding on travelling by foot. Walking the distance he had already was tiring, especially since it was so late. Perhaps there was a shortcut?

Seeing a small alleyway, Arthur realised that, if it joined to the parallel street, it would make his journey quicker. With only some amount of trepidation, he stepped into it, hoping he wouldn't be accosted by any prostitutes. A gentleman of his standing could not be seen doing something like that in the middle of the street. If he wanted something like that, he would go to one of the appropriate houses in secret.

Hurrying along, he had just decided that he would have some of Grey's tea, when a strange light caught his eye. A green glow was directly ahead of him, encompassing the width of the passage. He halted and stared it it. What was this? Were there people down here with lanterns? What were they doing?

Cautiously, Arthur stepped forward. "Good evening?" he called, listening for a response or the tell-tale sounds of someone in the darkness. "Is there anyone there?" he tried again. No sound. He tried rubbing his eyes – perhaps it was an optical illusion. It was still there, though, when he opened his eyes again. Maybe he was just too tired. Peter _had_ been keeping him awake, what with his coughing through the night.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur walked forward, regardless of the unknown, straight into the green glow – he was sure it was harmless. Almost immediately, however, he felt as though he had been turned upside down, as if he was falling forwards and backwards at the same time. All he could see was green. His grip tightened on his cane as he held his breath.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Noise crashed into Arthur's consciousness and he frowned, screwing his eyes shut tighter. Voices, people walking, the roar of some sort of machine. Arthur tried to remember what had happened. He had been walking home and then...

With a gasp, Arthur sat upright and looked around, eyes wide. Where the hell was he? From what he could see, it was daytime and he was still in the alley, though there seemed to be something off about it. There was no sign of the green glow, fortunately. He could smell urine and he scrunched his nose up in disgust. Glancing around, he found his hat and cane which he grabbed as he scrambled to his feet. Dusting himself off, he wandered back to the street. Perhaps he could get someone to take him home. He did have plenty of money, after all.

However, what he saw when he got out of the alley made him stop dead.

Crowds of people hurried to and fro. Some seemed to be wearing clothes similar to him but he could see no waistcoats and they certainly had no hats. Others were wearing rather odd-looking clothes: they had blue material for trousers and shirts with no buttons and no sleeves. The girls wore trousers as well or skirts so short Arthur had to look away. He could hear various foreign languages mixed with the English conversations.

The street had no cobblestones – instead it was smooth with raised parts at either side. Everyone walked on these higher parts unless they were crossing over. Arthur normally wouldn't have been able to fathom the reason for this but he had seen what the roaring sound was.

Several _things_ were racing by on the part of the street which was lower. Bulky black things or large behemoths, slowly winding their way past each other. He spotted large, red things with numbers and destinations. Others had the word "Taxi" put on a light and attached to the roof. A myriad of colours passed by, dancing around each other to a tune Arthur did not understand. And people dodged through gaps, unafraid.

He had heard about automobiles but _this_... Nothing could have prepared him for _this_.

Arthur wondered what had happened and where he was. Staring at the buildings beyond, he was sure that he was on The Mall. However he thought that perhaps he had travelled to a new world, a world which looked frighteningly similar to London. Chewing on his lip, Arthur decided that the best way to discover if he was still in his home town was to go to Trafalgar Square. It was close by and, surely, if Nelson's Column and the lions and the Imperial Measures were still there, he was in London, albeit with a lot of difference. Besides, if something had changed, he doubted he would be welcome at his own home. And he wouldn't be able to see the differences from outside. He was rather fearful of entering his own home, in all honestly. Would Peter still be there? No, better that he went to Trafalgar Square first and figure out what had happened.

Taking a breath, he strode out of the alleyway, cane swinging, cape fluttering. He felt rather out of place – after all, he was in evening wear. This was hardly suitable attire for a daytime stroll. Neither did it seem to be normal for these people. Everyone was gazing at him, either with interest or in a mocking manner. Quite simply, he stood out and he hoped that no-one would become violent.

When he reached the Square, he immediately knew he had made the wrong decision to calm his fears. Although everything was in its place (apart from those Measures which seemed to have been moved), there were a few buildings which seemed to be for commerce. This had, perhaps, attracted more people than on the Mall and he stared as people darted around him or simply jostled past him. Everything was chaotic and loud and Arthur started to feel quite ill, his head swimming.

What was going on? What had happened? Or where was he? And what was he supposed to do?

At that moment, someone bumped into him with such force that he found himself taking several steps back to stay on his feet. His hat slipped and he pushed it back up with a huff of breath. Glaring at the man, he surveyed his sloppy attire, the odd shirt almost hanging from a shoulder, some sort of bag on his shoulder. His blonde hair was neat except for a single strand which stuck up proudly, like a bug's antenna. Blue eyes shone through his spectacles and his eyebrows were scrunched as he grimaced at Arthur, looking apologetic.

"God, sorry," he said, Arthur recognising an American accent. "I wasn't looking where I was going!" Then the American swept his eyes over Arthur, taking in his appearance. Arthur scowled at him. "Nice get-up! Is something going on?"

Detesting the way he spoke, Arthur practically growled out his answer as he kept wary eyes on the crowd streaming around them. "Nothing is 'going on', as you put it. Leave me alone." For who would believe his story – it hardly seemed plausible to Arthur and he was the one it was happening to.

"Hey, you okay?" asked the man, frowning in concern. "You seem kinda out of it."

"Look, just-" began Arthur, only to be interrupted.

"Do you need me to help you to somewhere?"

"No, there is absolutely nothing you can do for me. Good day, sir." With that, Arthur stepped around him and walked to the edge of the raised part of the street. There he paused and wondered how to get across to the Square so he could sit and think. People seemed to know when to stop and go. Was it because of those lights which looked like people? Arthur bit his lip and decided to just chance his luck.

But, as he stepped out, the automobiles began to move. He gasped, staring at a red giant which came trundling straight for him. Suddenly, though, something wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards. He cried out as he stumbled into someone behind him, his legs losing the will to stand.

"Hey!" cried a familiar voice behind him. "Are you okay?"

"L-Let go!" cried Arthur, weakly, his fight leaving him from the fright.

"Right, I'm taking you home. Where do you live?" The arm around him moved and two hands grasped him to pull him upright. Then he was spun round so that he could stare through the anxious expression on the man's face.

"I... I don't think I live anywhere," said the dazed gentleman, his hands gripping his cane tighter.

Once again, eyes raked over him. Then the American ran a hand through his hair. "Come on," he murmured, taking hold of Arthur's arm and leading him away.

* * *

"Alfred," said the man once he had sat Arthur down on a shabby sofa. "Jones," he added.

"What?" asked Arthur, staring at something across from him. It was a rectangular shape and had a black rim. However, the middle seemed to shine and reflected the light. A small, red light seemed to shine from the bottom corner of it.

"My name," Alfred verified. "And yours is?"

Flickering his eyes over to the American, Arthur studied him. It was probably best that he did introduce himself. After all, it was something he should do as a gentleman. And he might need this man's help, as loathe as he was to admit it. So he stood up and offered his hand. Alfred took it and they shook, Arthur speaking as they did so. "Arthur Kirkland, Esquire."

"Isn't 'esquire' something fancy?" asked Alfred, frowning slightly as Arthur sat back down.

"Yes, of course it is. Where on Earth do you-? Ah, yes. America." Arthur sniffed in disdain.

Alfred turned towards him more, frowning deeper. "Hey! We're not _that_ bad. And a lot of your traditions started in America, anyways."

Scowling, Arthur glared at the black rectangle. "I do not want to get into a discussion on that sort of topic." Glancing back at Alfred, he found his blue, confused eyes. "Something more helpful would be better. For instance, where am I?"

"London."

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur shook his head. "This is not the London I know. Where are the cobbles and carts? And... and what was that _thing_ that nearly hit me. I have heard about automobiles but I have never seen so many in one city."

A bark of laughter answered his question. "Are you really gonna keep up that act?"

Fuming, Arthur snapped back at him. "It is not an act! I was merely on my way home to Kensington-"

"Ah, so you _do_ have a ho- Wait, Kensington? The super rich place?"

"Well, yes. Where else do you expect a person of my standing to live?"

"But you said you don't have a place to call home? I'm kinda confused now. Who exactly _are_ you?"

Drawing himself to his full height whilst sitting, Arthur puffed his chest out, a proud expression on his face. "I am Arthur Kirkland, Esquire., born on the 23rd of April, 1867, in London. I was made an Esquire in 1889. Last year, in fact."

Alfred looked like he didn't know whether to believe him or not, those eyes of his staring into Arthur's. Finally, he moved away and disappeared from the room. Had Arthur scared him off by his declaration? Had he not believed him? But then he returned with a slim rectangle, made from something like the rim of the Black Rectangular Thing. The thing, whatever it was, separated and, when Arthur looked over, he could see what appeared to be the flattened keys of a typewriter, though there were extra buttons. He marvelled at whatever it was – how could it fit typewriter keys in that small space?

Then, suddenly, the noise of a machine started and something appeared on the reflective surface of the upper bit. A strangled cry left him and he jerked backwards, staring in horror at the thing. What had just happened? What was happening? Fearfully, he looked up at Alfred who was staring back with wide eyes. Slowly, the American's face morphed into an expression of amusement and he was soon grinning at the gentleman.

"Did I scare ya?" he asked, gleefully.

"Be silent!" snapped Arthur, folding his arms and looking away.

"Don't be scared. It's just a laptop."

"What is a 'laptop'?" Arthur asked angrily, trying not to sound too curious.

Once again, Alfred frowned at him. "Well, it's... It's a computer which can sit on our lap and runs from a battery."

"'Computer'? Someone who calculates things?"

"Er, well, no. I suppose it does make calculations of a sort... I think."

"You think? You use it yet don't understand how it works?"

Alfred chuckled. "You don't need to understand how it works to use it."

"Hm," said Arthur, disapprovingly, frowning at the ignorant American.

Shrugging, Alfred began to type, his fingers flying over the keys. Arthur watched in awe. He still had trouble typing quickly with his typewriter. Perhaps this was because he did not use it often whilst Alfred clearly did. He poked at a square below the keys a few times, pausing to type and hit a rather large button which said 'Enter'. After a few clicks, taps, pokes and typing during which Alfred frowned a little more the longer it took for whatever he was waiting for to happen, he sighed and turned to Arthur.

"I can't find you in these family genealogy sites but how useful are they, eh?"

"'Sites'?" Arthur asked. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Alfred bit his lip for a moment. "Okay, let's say for the moment that I believe your story about being a Victorian. How-?"

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't say anything about being a 'Victorian', whatever that is."

Sighing, Alfred rolled his eyes. "Lemme try that again: let's say for the moment that I believe you come from, what, 1890? Right, well, assuming that, how the hell did you end up in 2013?"

The silence stretched out between them. Arthur stared at Alfred's confused expression as he tried to process what he had just been told. 2013? That was over a hundred years after his time. No wonder everything was strange and terrifying.

When Arthur found his voice, he managed to gasp out an explanation. "Um... There was a green glow. And, well, I... walked through it. Perhaps that was rather foolish but, at the time, I saw no harm in it. I was delayed as it was."

"For a very important date?"

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur just looked at him incredulously. "No. I was late to return _home_."

"Really? You couldn't wait a little?"

"No," Arthur repeated, not bothering to explain why exactly he had been in such a hurry.

"Well, weird glowing thing did... what exactly?"

"I don't know. I think I fell over. And then I woke up in the same alley, just... now."

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, apparently thinking quickly, his eyes darting to Arthur occasionally. "Okay then. If you've got nowhere to go, you can stay here, for the moment."

Shocked, Arthur's mouth fell open. Remembering himself, he said, "Thank you."


	2. Dinner Time

"Do you..." said Alfred, hesitantly, pausing as Arthur flicked his gaze up at him. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Oh, yes," sighed Arthur in relief. "If you would be so kind, may I have some tea?"

"Tea?" asked Alfred, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yes," said Arthur, dismissively, as if he was talking to his housekeeper. Then, remembering exactly who he was talking to and when, he fixed Alfred with a wide-eyed stare. "You... You do still _have_ tea now, yes?"

After a brief pause, Alfred's laugh boomed out of his mouth. "Dude, calm down. Tea exists, I just don't generally have any lying around. Lemme see if one of my friends have left any behind on one of their visits." With that, he hurried from the room, presumably going to the kitchen.

With his host gone, Arthur decided to examine the room. He was sitting on a faded blue couch, a small table in front of him, a grey armchair off to the side. Upon the chair, a cushion was sitting at an angle. Arthur frowned: the design looked like the American flag except the stars were arranged differently. On a whim, he counted them and discovered that, not only were they arranged differently, there were six additional stars. He shifted uncomfortably. So America was even bigger than when he had last noticed? It didn't feel right.

Quickly, he dragged his eyes away and surveyed the drab walls, a few posters pinned up. They appeared to be childish caricatures of men dressed in strange get-ups, some with rather long capes. Some appeared to be flying. He frowned at them, confused as to why Alfred would decide to stick up things from newspapers in his home.

Noting the bookcases lining the wall beside the Black Rectangular Thing, he stood and wandered over to see what sorts of books this Alfred read. His eyes scanned the titles but recognised none of them. Frowning, he pulled out a random one entitled Call of Duty: Ghosts, wondering what ghosts could have to do with what he presumed was the army.

It wasn't a book. There didn't appear to be pages and the outer cover was made of some strange hard material. Flipping it over, he read the blurb and glanced at the pictures. He frowned at the captions which said things like 'co-op' and 'better resolution'. Deciding to take a peek inside, he pulled it open – with a little difficulty – to find a round, thin thing inside. It had the title on it and the picture from the front. There was a hole in the middle of it with a little button. Curious, Arthur pushed it – and the thing popped out. He fumbled for it and managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. However, it had turned around and he saw that it was silver on the reverse side.

Hearing Alfred returning, Arthur quickly returned the discus-like thing into its place and shoved the strange item back onto the shelf. With that, he hurried to his place and dropped onto the sofa just as Alfred passed through the open door.

"Hey, Artie-"

"Arthur!" snapped the gentleman, annoyed that Alfred couldn't seem to get his name right.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Arthur. D'you like green tea?"

"Well, I much prefer Twinings' Breakfast or Oolong but I am not adverse to drinking Green tea," replied Arthur.

"Cool." Alfred paused before he left, shifting his weight a little nervously. Arthur frowned for a moment before raising an eyebrow, wordlessly asking him what was wrong. "Er... You're not one of those snobs who won't drink tea from a teabag, are ya? 'Cause I am totally crap at making-"

"Teabag?" asked Arthur, very confused. What on Earth was a teabag?

"Oh," Alfred blinked, looking slightly puzzled himself. Then he shrugged. "Nothing. Never mind."

Arthur's eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes as he watched the man saunter away. What the devil had that been about? Shaking his head, he turned back to the room and continued his examination.

Along the wall adjoining the door was an old, beat-up radiator. He had had similar ones installed when he had bought the house he and Peter lived in. Peter had adored it: the newfangled contraption made it so much easier for them to survive and relieved both of them. Arthur was even more thankful for it when Peter had gotten ill.

Wondering if it was working, he made his way over and cautiously touched it. The metal was cold beneath his skin and he shivered slightly. He wondered what time of the year it was, whether it was winter, whether it was nearing Christmas...

Brushing aside those thoughts, he went over to examine the odd rectangular thing that seemed to be pride of place in the room. The shiny surface at the front didn't appear to open and, when he carefully leaned over to look behind it, there was no way to do so there. Instead he found several cables running between it, some things in the alcove below and a white thing. At the unknown thing, the cables were connected to square parts which were connected to the odd thing. A cable ran from that to the wall where it was attached to a matching white square. Beside it, a small switch adorned with a red lick of paint resided, obviously in the 'on' position.

Frowning, Arthur straightened up, thinking. Was this to do with electricity? He barely understood it. However, he did know that it was used to power the new filament lamps in his house. Perhaps it had been developed to be used for other things? But, then, what was this thing?

As he ran his hands over the edge, his fingers found something protruding. A button. Curious, he pressed it, braced for it to move or something else outlandish. He was disappointed, however, when nothing happened. After deciding that he might as well just sit back down, he stood back – and was assaulted by noise and colour.

With a cry, he jumped a step backwards only to feel something hit the back of his legs. Gasping in surprise, he toppled over the table, landing awkwardly, his back hitting the couch rather painfully. Before he could right himself and find out what had happened, Alfred appeared in the doorway.

"What? What is it?" he cried, surprised.

"I-" was all Arthur managed as he tried to work out where his legs and arms should be. A hand grabbed his upper arm firmly and pulled him onto the couch so that he was sitting once again, facing the black box. Upon the face of it, images were moving and he could hear people talking. His eyes widened and he leaned forward. "Wha-? Is that-? Are those _people_? Are they- But how- What is this?!"

"It's, er," began Alfred but stopped. Arthur didn't know why as he continued to stare at the thing which was depicting a few people talking, sitting on chairs. Suddenly, the view point changed and Arthur twitched in surprise and fear. It showed that the seats were on top of a stage, an audience watching them. "Hang on – I'm gonna get you your tea." With that, Alfred left but Arthur was only vaguely aware of him now. Straining to hear, Arthur began to catch the words being spoken.

"I 'aven't taken any money off 'er," said the man sitting on the seat. He was wearing a suit and seemed to have made an effort with his appearance. However, Arthur could tell he came from up north, perhaps somewhere in the Yorkshire area.

Another man, this one sitting on the floor interrupted. "Did you or did you not tell my team, 'I take money off her; that's why I married her'? That's what you said."

"Yes," replied the man with a nod, his eyes flickering towards Arthur. Jolting in surprise, Arthur stared back. However, the man looked away as he continued. "In the first bit-"

"Arthur," said another voice, closer to him and the poor man jumped again in shock. "Here." Alfred handed him a mug. "I hope it's okay for you. I'm a coffee man, myself." He lifted his own mug a little before he sat beside Arthur and sipped at it.

Looking into his own, Arthur stared at the yellow liquid within. He could see no leaves through the almost clean water so these teabag inventions must be a good thing. Hesitantly, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, ignoring the strange device for a moment. Although it was rather weak, in his opinion, Arthur felt relaxed almost instantly. His panic lessened and he opened the eyes he had closed while drinking the tea.

"What _is_ that?" he asked, much more calmly. "It's not a window but..." He glanced at the people on the screen and shuddered a little.

"Ah, hang on," said Alfred. He grabbed something from the table. It appeared to be a rod of some sort with a lot of buttons. Alfred pointed it at the box thing and pressed the biggest, red button. The image on the surface facing them disappeared. The only thing to suggest it was anything but a box was a small red light in the bottom left corner. "That's better. So we don't get distracted," he added, by way of explanation.

"Yes," Arthur agreed with a nod.

"Well, it's called a television."

"A tele...?" began Arthur before trailing off to think. He'd never heard of a television. But he _had_ heard of telegraphs and telephones. Those, he knew, transmitted messages and sound over long distances. Did this mean that the television transmitted images? Was that what this was? "But... how? How does it work?"

"Oh, you see, it works with radio waves. The im-"

"Radio? Waves?"

"Um... It's- Don't you know about them. I know radios weren't invented till the tail end of the Victorian time but I thought radio waves were discovered around 1850 or something. Maybe a bit later."

Concentrating, Arthur dredged up a memory of someone talking about the future of communication at some tedious party or other. "They are... for communication?"

"Yup. All forms of radiation form waves," explained Alfred. "They go through the air, undetectable for the most part. Radio waves are a type of radiation. They've got longer wavelengths- Actually, never mind about that. Anyways, there's a way of changing the form of the waves by changing their modulating and base input signals. That way, different messages can be sent. Television signals have a wider band 'cause everything's scanned quicker. And there's a separate one for the audio. When it-" He broke off when he finally noticed Arthur's expression.

The Englishman could feel his face set in a shocked expression. His eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted as he tried to make sense of all the words. He had understood radiation. But after that, what with 'wavelengths' and 'modulating' and 'bands', he felt lost. Arthur had never been particularly scientifically minded. Natural sciences, perhaps, things associated with his garden. Unfortunately, physics had never particularly captured his attention. So he couldn't quite grasp what Alfred was saying.

"Do you believe in magic?" Alfred asked, suddenly.

"Excuse me?" asked Arthur, blinking.

"Let's just say that it happens by magic." Alfred grinned at him and took a sip from his mug.

Taking a sip from his own to calm himself once again, Arthur nodded. "Fine."

"Besides, if you understood what was happening, you could change the world when you get back to your own time." Alfred grimaced. "I'd like to stay alive, y'know."

"Even if I did, I do not see what use it is."

"Oh, Artie," sighed Alfred, a fond smile on his lips which was slowly becoming a grin.

"Arthur."

"Television is _amazing_! There are all sorts of shows on it. Talk shows and documentaries and the news and movies and _everything_!" Alfred was almost bouncing in his seat, his grin seemingly stuck.

"I see..." said Arthur, slowly, taking another sip.

"God, I gotta show you!" Alfred grabbed the special rod as Arthur flinched away from him.

"Wha-? You- You can't _say_ that!"

Alfred blinked and looked round at him. "Say what?"

" _You just took the Lord's name in vain_!" hissed Arthur, shifting away from him slightly.

"So what?"

After a few moments of them staring at each other, Arthur spoke up, rather quietly. "Does... Does the Church of England still exist?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Why?"

"Then... How can you-? You will be _punished_ if you say something like that in public! It is against the law!"

"It is?" asked Alfred. He frowned for a moment in obvious confusion before he let out a loud laugh. "Ah, no, dude, they totally stopped that, like, years ago! No-one but hardcore church-goers complain about saying things like that. And the cops ain't gonna stop you in the street if they overhear ya. Don't worry so much. You wanna see these shows or not?"

Shocked, Arthur hesitantly nodded. Religion wasn't taken seriously any more? What did people believe in now? He was too afraid to ask so he decided to drop the subject and return his attention to the television, taking another calming sip of tea.

"So, what sorta books did you like to read? Maybe I can find you a channel you'd like." He pressed the big red button on the stick and images appeared once again. Then the images began to flicker as Alfred pressed a big arrow button, numbers appearing at the top of the surface facing them.

"What is that?" asked Arthur, nodding to the stick thing as he cupped his hands around his tea.

"Huh? Oh, it's a remote. It's so you can change the channel and stuff without having to get up all the time." Alfred glanced at him and grimaced. "I don't think there's any point in telling you how it works..."

"No," agreed Arthur. "I was never so fond of science."

Alfred turned to him, stopping his constant pressing of the buttons on the 'remote'. A woman on the screen told people how she felt with her bloated stomach, gesturing with a small container and a spoon. Arthur tuned her out and listened to Alfred as he asked, "Why not?"

Shrugging, Arthur said, "It never held my interest."

"Okay. Well. Ah!" cried Alfred, suddenly. "D'ya like British humour?"

"I have been known to enjoy a good comedy, yes."

Alfred's eyes flickered to him as the American tapped in a number on the remote. "I betcha loved Oscar Wilde's stuff, huh?"

"I enjoyed his children's stories, yes. Why?" asked Arthur, his brow furrowing further.

"Uh, never mind," said Alfred, quickly. He frowned as well and turned his attention back to the television. "You probably wouldn't like what happened with him, anyhow."

"Would I not?" Arthur threw a glare in Alfred's direction. "How exactly would you know?"

"Never mind."

Arthur bristled. "You are getting rather repetitive, Mr. Jones."

"Alfred," replied the man with a small smirk. "Here, watch this. It's called Mock the Week."

Reluctantly, Arthur nodded and turned his attention to the television. For a while, they watched in silence, Arthur sipping at his tea, Alfred sipping his coffee. However, a lot of the humour made references to things that had happened since Arthur had left his world behind. He understood very little. After a while, he sighed and finished his tea, setting it on the table.

"You okay?" Alfred piped up, looking concerned.

"I am fine," Arthur replied, dismissively. He returned his attention to the comedy show for a few seconds before speaking up again. "Are there 'shows' for children?"

Snorting, Alfred set his own mug on the table. "Dude, there are whole _channels_ for kids." With no idea what 'channels' were, Arthur merely nodded. "Why d'ya wanna know?"

"No reason," said Arthur, swiftly. Alfred may have been helping him and teaching him but he still did not want to tell the relative stranger too much about himself.

"C'mon! You can tell me. There's no-one else here. I'm not gonna tell anyone." Those blue eyes looked at him imploringly.

Arthur sighed. "Fine: I was wondering if this was a form of entertainment that could be directed towards children."

"Why?"

Another moment of hesitation. "Well, I was made an Esquire because I formed a toy company. I wonder if it is still going strong..."

"Hm, I can find out," said Alfred. "Was it called Hamleys by any chance?"

"It was called Britannia's Angels."

"Oh, cool name!" Alfred grinned at him and reached for his 'laptop' that he had set down on the table. It had thankfully been unscathed from Arthur's fall over it. Again, he tapped and swiped at the big square. Eventually, he tilted his head slightly. "Nope," he said, slowly. "Looks like it's just spitting out sites about Rule, Britannia and some sort of artists' renderings of a character or something."

"It?"

"Yeah, Google. Maybe we'll have more luck in the library or something. Anyways, you hungry?" Alfred asked as he closed the computer over and put it back on the table.

"A little, yes. Sorry to be an inconvenience," said Arthur, glancing away.

"Cool..." Alfred trailed off as he eyed Arthur's appearance. Now that he had calmed down, he was a little concerned about this level of scrutiny. He was no longer wearing his hat, cape or jacket so he would not strike as imposing a figure as he would have liked. His trousers had been dirtied in the alley and his hair was mucky. Arthur also felt rather sweaty so he probably looked horrible. "Hey, while you wait for food, you wanna go for a bath? Then we can eat, maybe I can show you an awesome movie and then we can sleep. We'll figure everything out tomorrow."

"I would much rather we decided what to do today," said Arthur, haughtily.

"Well, tough," said Alfred with a grin. "I'm hungry and I don't wanna think any more today. This is way more thinking than I do every day, y'know." He laughed at himself and Arthur was unsure if it was a joke or not.

"Hm," was all Arthur responded to that with. "In that case, we had best not let you get a headache from thinking. I would very much like to wash up. Which way is it to the bathroom?"

"Last door on the left," Alfred responded, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

Arthur nodded and stood, making his way around the sofa. At the door he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He supposed he should say thank you but Alfred was changing the 'channels' on the television again so he silently left.

Along the small hall he soon found the room he was looking for. It was covered in tiles with a porcelain bath and a shower head above it. An odd looking toilet was squashed into a corner. Beside it, a sink had a dripping tap which Arthur closed fully. There was a mirror above it, attached, it seemed, to cabinet doors.

Quickly, he located the soap and began to run the bath. He checked the door was closed and discovered a small bolt so, for the sake of modesty, he slid it across, locking himself in. Periodically, Arthur checked the temperature of the water, alternating between the hot and cold taps or opening them both at the same time as he saw fit. Briefly, he wondered how the bath was heated – was it still done by gas? He decided that he didn't really need to know and pushed the thought from his mind.

As he waited, he gazed at himself over the mirror. He looked absolutely awful. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in years. His hair was dishevelled and still dirty. Running a hand through it, he coughed as dust was swept from his locks.

When the bath was finally full, he began to undress, turning his thoughts to Peter. The boy was confined to the house instead of being sent away to some foreign land to be treated. Arthur was too scared of losing him, of not being there for him. And now here he was, lost from Peter's life. He hoped and prayed, his lips moving with barely a sound escaping, that he would return to his own time. If his brother was turned out onto the streets, if his treatment stopped, if people discovered his condition...

Banishing those thoughts for the moment, he carefully climbed in and settled, sighing at the relaxing caress of the water. For several long minutes he lay, his eyes closed, his breathing slowing. Arthur waited until he felt infinitely calmer than any time since he had arrived in 2013 before sitting up slightly and bringing the bar of soap to the water.

After he had washed his body, Arthur lathered the soap and proceeded to wash his hair, bemoaning the lack of black tea. He had always rather loved the smell of it in his hair which lingered for days. Perhaps he would ask Alfred for some the next time he had a bath.

If he was still in 2013, that was.

Finally, he decided to emerge from the water. Drops cascaded from him as he clambered over the porcelain edge, careful not to slip. Standing on the mat, he glanced around and grabbed a soft, pale blue towel which was hung over a metal rail affixed to the wall. It was long enough to conceal himself from view if he held it up. He used it to dry off as the water drained, leaving his hair to drip onto his shoulders. Then he turned and gave a lost look around the room.

Arthur had a problem.

His clothes were filthy and needed a wash before he could wear them again. There were no other clothes. What was he supposed to do? It would be quite unbecoming to go gallivanting around in just a towel. But what else _could_ he do?

With a reluctant sigh, Arthur wrapped the towel around his waist, unlocked the door and exited, creeping along the hall. The only room he knew about had its door open so he peered around the doorway. Alfred was still sitting on the couch, watching something that looked rather odd, as though the people on the screen were not real. He frowned at this as he and Alfred both watched a man sneak through the area he was in. Arthur wondered what he was doing for a moment before deciding that it was a little too cold to be standing around. So, making sure his body was mostly hidden from Alfred's view, he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said as Alfred turned around. Behind him, the man on the television stopped moving: a large word appeared over the image. 'PAUSE'. "Excuse me, but I have no other clothes..."

"Oh, right!" cried Alfred, leaping up. Arthur twitched a little and retreated back a little. "Didn't think, sorry! I'll just get you some jeans and a shirt. Oh! I still have unopened boxers, if you want any."

"What are boxers?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"Um, underwear. Why, what'd you wear?"

"An undershirt and drawers," replied Arthur, trying not to be embarrassed by the turn in conversation.

"Ah," said Alfred, as he made his way to the door. "Well, I don't wear vests or anything, so you'll just have to make do."

He was close now: if he came any closer, Arthur would be seen. So Arthur tried to stop him and hide at the same time, causing an undignified squeak to sound from his mouth as he backed away. "I-I will wait in the bath-" he began as he backed away. However, he was not fast enough and Alfred's longer legs had closed the distance. He emerged from the room and turned towards Arthur, causing the man to freeze, almost as though he was a street urchin caught with his hand in a gentleman's purse.

Alfred froze as well, staring at him. He looked rather shocked. They continued to stare at each other for a second before Alfred's eyes suddenly flickered. It almost seemed that the American was tracking a droplet of water from Arthur's shoulder, down his chest, towards the towel which he now felt was inadequate to be covering him up. Arthur really didn't like the way Alfred was looking at him, gazing at his skin, so he used one arm to hug himself, his hand resting on the opposite shoulder, his arm hopefully covering himself a little. His other hand gripped the towel tighter.

"Uh," said Alfred, apparently trying to wrench his gaze away from Arthur's chest. "Well, um... Better get you them clothes, yeah? The food'll be here soon."

"Soon?" asked Arthur, weakly. Clearing his throat, he spoke a little louder. "You have servants?"

This question seemed to jolt Alfred from his daze and he laughed loudly, his eyes now meeting Arthur's again. "Nah, mate. I just ordered in."

"Ordered...? What exactly do you mean?"

"The food's gonna be delivered. Come on," he added, stepping around the partly-stricken Arthur. He had no real choice but to follow.

They entered the room opposite the bathroom. Inside was a large wardrobe, a comfortable-sized bed, a desk and more things stuck to the wall. A small bookcase had thick books, most with scientific names. There was also a chest of drawers nestled in a corner. Beside the bed, a small table with a drawer and cabinet was situated, a lamp sitting there. Another door perhaps led to a storage area.

"Here," said Alfred and Arthur returned his attention to Alfred in time to catch a shirt one-handed. "I bought that the first time I came to London." He grinned at Arthur who laid it on the bed with his free hand. The shirt had short sleeves, was white and had words written on it in red. 'I' and 'London' were there, surrounding a heart shape.

Turning back to Alfred in time to catch a pair of trousers made in a strange material, he raised an eyebrow. "Really? Do you have nothing else – with longer sleeves, perhaps?"

"Okay, okay," sighed Alfred. He pulled a shirt from his wardrobe. This one did, indeed, have long sleeves. It was white with little blue stripes running along it. Arthur graciously accepted this with his thanks before Alfred turned his attention to the chest of drawers. He rummaged through the top drawer, extracted something, then turned around with a pair of shorts. They were far shorter than Arthur's drawers but he accepted them, too. "Hm," said Alfred, as he handed them over. "They may be a bit big on ya."

"I will make do, thank you very much," insisted Arthur. "May I ask you to leave so that I can dress?"

"Sure," replied Alfred. "Bring the towel t'me when you're finished, along with your own clothes, and I'll put them all in for a wash."

Arthur had no idea what it would be put in but he nodded. He waited for Alfred to leave and shut the door before gratefully pulling on the 'boxers'. They were a bit large, barely touching his hips. He shrugged, though, and pulled on the rest of the clothes.

* * *

When he eventually returned to where Alfred was sitting he noticed, this time, that Alfred was holding a strange device in his hand. It was black, a curved shape and had a lot of buttons. There was also a small stick which Alfred was moving around. As he studied him, he noted that, when Alfred pushed the stick to the left, the person on the television turned left.

"How are you doing that?" he asked, rather alarmed.

With a gasp and a jolt, Alfred hit a button and the large 'PAUSE' returned, freezing the man in his tracks. "Geez, Artie! You gave me a heart attack! You finished?" Arthur nodded, small drops of water flying from his drying hair. Alfred flinched as they hit his outstretched hand. "Eh, your hair is still wet."

"Yes," replied Arthur, striding around the couch and sitting in his previous spot. "It will be a long while before it is properly dry."

Alfred tilted his head. "Your hair looks _soaked_ ," he emphasised. "Didja not dry it or something?"

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur.

The American's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, what do I mean? Did you dry it or not?"

"I have no idea what you-" began Arthur but, suddenly, Alfred was running a hand through his hair.

"You didn't dry it!" he cried. With that, he grabbed the damp towel from Arthur's hands and dropped it onto the gentleman's head.

"Hey!" cried Arthur, his crisp tones slipping. "What th'hell-?" He broke off, realising how he sounded. "What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, instead, hoping Alfred hadn't caught his slip.

The towel was moved, rubbing against Arthur's head. "I'm drying your hair, silly," explained Alfred's muffled voice.

"With the towel?"

"What else?"

Arthur fell silent and let Alfred continue. It felt rather pleasant having someone do this for him. He was almost thrown back in time to the occasions when his mother had done something like this. She would smile as he mischievously splashed water at her. Her smile...

Quite suddenly, surprising himself as well as Alfred, he grabbed Alfred's wrists, stopping him. "That is quite enough of that," he told him as he pulled the towel away.

"But-" Alfred was interrupted by a strange buzzing noise which stopped as abruptly as it started. Arthur's hand flew to his chest as he tried to calm his thundering heartbeat, tried to catch his breath from the fright. "Food's here!" was Alfred's response as he leapt from the couch, grabbed the dirty clothes and towel and bounded from the room. Arthur listened as the man spoke to someone, telling them to "come on up!" There was another silence, punctuated by humming noises emanating from around the television. Then there was a knock at the door, it was opened and Arthur listened absently to the chaos.

Finally, the door closed again and Alfred reappeared. He was carrying two cardboard boxes, rather flat, an amazing smell wafting from them, making Arthur's mouth water. "What is that?" he asked.

"Pizza!" proclaimed Alfred, with a flourish, setting the boxes on the table and opening the top-most one. "I just got cheese, 'cause I don't know what you like and stuff."

"I see..." said Arthur, slowly, staring. Inside the box was a large, round thing. It seemed to be cut into triangles and was covered in what appeared to be a sauce and some melted cheese. "What exactly is it?" he added.

"It's..." Alfred bit his lip, obviously trying to work out what to tell him. "Well, it's a sort of... bread. Flat. With tomato sauce and cheese. Then it's baked and it becomes _awesome_!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I see," he repeated. "And how exactly are we supposed to eat it? We have no cutlery."

"Dude, don't sweat it. You eat it like this." And, with that, Alfred reached forward, grabbed a triangular piece and pulled it from the box. A string of cheese held it together with the rest before it broke. Then he held it above his head, caught the dangling cheese and practically sucked it into his mouth before taking a bite of the actual bread. With a moan of pleasure, he chewed quickly before turning and grinning at Arthur. "Just try it."

For a moment, Arthur could only stare in shock. The manners of the man were appalling. He didn't know what to do. "The world has really gone to pieces," he sighed and, reluctantly, took his own piece.

Hesitantly, he lifted it to his lips and took a tentative bite. The overpowering taste of warm cheese and tomato overthrew his senses and he blinked in surprise. It was actually tastier than he thought. Although, he rather thought he preferred the food he had been used to in his own time.

"Well?" asked Alfred.

Arthur swallowed. "It _is_ rather good."

"Yay!" cried Alfred. "Now, I gotta get us a movie. Then we can eat while we watch. Ah! How about some Disney? That'd be awe- Wait! You haven't seen _any_ Disney. Dude, I gotta start you off with Snow White!"

"What-?" Arthur began but Alfred had already leapt from his place and bounced over to the bookcase. Quickly, he devoured his piece of pizza and grabbed a strange not-book from the shelf. Then he wandered over to the television and fiddled around with something underneath it. Curious, Arthur said to him, "What are you doing? What are those?"

"It's a DVD," explained Alfred as he returned to the couch and picked up the strange thing he had been holding earlier. "I put it in the XBox. This is its controller. And Snow White is a fairy tale which was animated by Disney in, like, the 30s or something."

DVD, XBox, Disney – there were too many things for Arthur to ask about so he took another bite of his pizza and pretended to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of historical notes for this chapter - but, apparently, too many. If you wanna know about anything, you can just ask.


	3. Bedtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zeplerfer helped me out a bit with things that didn't make sense in this chapter.
> 
> Can't for the life of me remember what that was, though.

Once Alfred had sat back down, Arthur glanced at him. "So what is this 'Disney' thing?" he asked, still confused.

"Huh? Oh, Disney was this guy – Walt Disney, y'know – who founded this company (called Disney) that makes movies." Alfred pulled another triangle of pizza from the box.

"Movies?"

"Oh, uh... Films. Y'know – moving pictures."

Arthur thought back and wondered if he had ever seen anything resembling that. "You mean, like a zoetrope?"

"A _what_?" asked Alfred, looking flabbergasted. Somehow, Arthur wasn't surprised.

"It's a thing that spins. You look through the slits and the separate pictures seem to merge until-"

"Oh!" cried Alfred, leaving Arthur disgruntled that he had been so rude. "One of them! They have a name?"

"Yes," replied Arthur. He had been about to berate Alfred when what was happening on the 'television' caught his attention. What appeared to be moving drawings of women and birds were on the screens. Someone was singing, quite sweetly, as the woman moved around. "Wait a moment," he breathed, turning to Alfred with wide eyes. "I thought you said this was a-a 'movie'?

"Yeah... it is...?" Alfred said, hesitantly.

"Yet there is sound. Where is it coming from?"

Alfred seemed to think about that for a moment before he laughed. "Ah, man, this was made after the golden age of silent movies. Before you ask, they recorded the sound separately and then they edited them together."

"Recorded-? Ah," said Arthur, trying to wrap his mind around the advances in technology that had been made. It seemed incredible, impossible even, to have had it leap forward so much. "I take it that it was not recorded on a gramophone?"

"Nope. With a microphone."

"I see." _Though I do not_. "And how exactly does this help me get home?"

"Oh," said Alfred, blinking. "Ah, yeah, sorry. I got kinda excited." He fell silent for a moment and Arthur worried that he had gotten wrapped up in the movie again – it was rather pretty, he thought. However, looking at Snow White in rags reminded him of Peter and what would happen to him if he couldn't get back. Suddenly, though, Alfred spoke again. "The only thing I can think of doing is to take you to a hos- or the cops. I mean." Alfred looked at Arthur with a pitying look, one Arthur was accustomed to. "You definitely shouldn't be wandering around but I have no idea how to send you back. Unless..."

"Unless?" Arthur prompted after a few moments of silence and a prince began singing to Snow White to fill it.

"I could do some research at the library." Alfred suddenly looked a lot happier. "After all, if we look up any news articles around the time of your disappearance, then we'd be able to find out what happened and stuff!"

"And then?"

"And then we reverse it!"

"Then let us not waste any more time," said Arthur, decisively, already beginning to stand up. But he felt a tug on his shirt as he was halfway to his feet and ended up sitting back down with a quiet 'oof!'

"Nah, man. We can't go _now_ ," said Alfred, rolling his eyes. "They're all shut by now. Just watch the movie and relax. We'll get you home soon. And eat – you're gonna go home half starved if you're only gonna eat one slice."

Grudgingly, Arthur resigned himself to staying the night. It was true that it was rather late and it was highly plausible that the future did not have 24 hour libraries what with their laptops and movies – they probably had no need for the buildings. He took a bit of pizza at the sight of Alfred's raised eyebrows, trying to push Peter to the back of his mind.

That was easier said than done...

They fell silent, though, watching the movie, Alfred nudging Arthur occasionally to remind him of the food. Arthur had eaten his fill by the time the evil step-mother decided to go to Snow White with an apple. The gentleman frowned deeper than ever, his worries pushed aside for the moment at this inaccuracy. How could they get it so wrong? He glanced at Alfred to find his eyes already gazing back; he looked rather surprised, either from being caught or from Arthur's frown.

"What's wrong?" the American asked.

"This is wrong," Arthur replied, waving a hand at the television, deciding not to bring up his brother when they could do nothing to remedy the situation. "She should not be using the apples just yet. It should be bodice laces and a comb first. Did this Disney man not read the original tale?"

"Uh," said Alfred, once again looking both bemused and confused. "I think you're missing the point of Disney. It's for kids and stuff so they take the dark tales and make them... friendlier." He shrugged. "They're fun."

"They lie," Arthur corrected him. "I expect that prince from earlier will be the one to find her coffin later? Unlike the tale where he only met her upon her reawakening. This does not teach the children anything."

"Sure it does!" came the protest. "It teaches kids not to take apples or candy from strangers, right?"

"That may be but, considering what else the woman convinced her to do – without magic, I may add – I think the real lesson from Snow White is that you should not trust people you do not know and you should listen to your elders. The dwarves specifically told her not to open the door to strangers."

There was a pause as Arthur watched the dwarves chase the witch to the edge of a cliff. He sneered at it until the silence between him and Alfred was broken by the American.

"So you're saying I shouldn't trust you and shouldn't have let you in."

Blinking, Arthur glanced at him, surprise evident on his face. He hadn't meant that at all and, apparently, Alfred knew it since he was smirking. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur huffed and folded his arms as he returned his attention to the movie. Alfred sniggered beside him. After a few seconds, he mumbled his thanks: out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alfred grinning happily but the American didn't pass comment.

The rest of the film passed without much incident, Arthur waiting till the end to complain about the reviving kiss and the queen being sent to her death off a cliff. "After all," he pointed out, "would that not give children an irrational fear of heights while the original tale gave them a rational fear of punishment from royalty?"

"What are you on about?" asked Alfred as he moved towards the television. "Actually, I don't think I want to know. Wanna watch another one? To pass the time, I mean. It's late but it's not _that_ late."

"I hardly think this Disney has made any other good movies. It looks as though he has utterly destroyed several good tales."

Alfred bent over to retrieve the thing he had called a 'DVD' as he hummed in thought. As he straightened, the silver disc in his hand, he said, "How about The Lion King. It's supposed to be based on some Shakespeare play, I think."

"Which one?" asked Arthur, frowning. "And, now that I remember, what is a 'DVD'?"

"I don't remember. And a DVD is a... 'Digital Video Disc'. It's basically kinda like... Um..." He shrugged as he gave up, obviously unable to think of something old enough to help Arthur.

"And all DVDs have movies on them?"

"Sometimes they have TV shows. Y'know, so you can watch 'em again."

"Why would you wish to do that?"

"Uh," said Alfred as he returned the Snow White DVD to its correct container. "Well, in case you want to remind yourself what happened before the next season."

Arthur blinked. "Why would you forget what had happened within three months?"

"Wha-? Oh, no," said Alfred, pulling out another DVD from the bookshelf. "A season is, like, a series of episodes."

"Oh. I see," said Arthur with another frown.

"Brits call it a 'series', though, I think," Alfred further explained. "And you can get DVDs that are interactive games."

"Games?" asked Arthur, perking up.

"Yup. You just point and shoot with the remote, really. Though you're not really shooting anything." Alfred returned to the television and crouched down again with the disc.

"What is that thing you are putting it into? An... 'X Box'?

"Yeah. An XBox is something you can play games on, too." Alfred returned to the couch and picked up the strange black thing and waved it. "This is the control. It works kinda like the remote and you can make the characters in the games move around."

"Characters?" murmured Arthur, still confused. He stared at the spot the XBox was located, frowning in its direction. "The world is far stranger than before."

"And it keeps getting freakier," agreed Alfred with a wide grin. "We're gonna see singing animals now."

"Singing animals?" asked Arthur, incredulous.

"Yup. Now, shush. This one is, like, my favourite."

* * *

By the end of the second movie, Arthur was so tired he couldn't even complain about the lack of death in the Hamlet-inspired story. He had figured out which play it was halfway through and, when Alfred had looked it up on his laptop, he had been proven correct. His smug look had been met by Alfred's pout.

As the fire licked at the Pridelands, Arthur could feel himself literally nodding off, his thoughts reduced to a haze of worry and exhaustion. When his chin connected with his chest for the second time, he sat upright, alarmed, and, seeing as the end was drawing near, he turned to Alfred. He was a little surprised to catch a fond and amused smile on the American's lips as he returned his attention to the television.

"I feel I must retire," he told Alfred, deciding to forget about the odd look. Alfred returned his attention to him, looking a little puzzled for a moment before he blinked and nodded. They stared at each other for a moment before Arthur cleared his throat. "Where may I sleep?"

"Ah, you can have the bed," said Alfred. "It's a bit of a mess but I'll wash the sheets tomorrow or something."

"And where will you sleep?" asked Arthur with a frown. He didn't remember seeing any other bedrooms.

"I'll just sleep here – no biggy."

"In the same room you ate in?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I suppose..." Arthur trailed off and shrugged. "Society has changed a lot. It is a little... disconcerting, is all."

Alfred grimaced at him. "Yeah, I bet it would be."

Standing, Arthur looked down at him. "Thank you," he said. "Oh. Do you have anything to wear to bed?"

"Nah, I'll just sleep in my boxers."

This time, it was Arthur who grimaced. "No. I meant, do you have anything for _me_ to wear to bed?"

Blinking up at him, a slight blush stained Alfred's cheeks. Arthur wasn't sure why he was embarrassed. "Ah, er," said the American. "You could just... sleep in your boxers, too?"

Arthur gasped. "I hardly think that is appropriate attire for bed. I can forego the lack of a dressing room but, really, I don't think I can be without pyjamas. Or, at the very least, a nightshirt."

His companion hesitated for a moment as his cheeks darkened. "Well, I don't really have anything. I mean, I usually just sleep in boxers – it's easier. But, er, you can wear one of my shirts instead, if it means that much to you. Though I don't see why you can't just wear that." He gestured at what Arthur was wearing.

"That is completely ungentlemanly!" Arthur protested.

"Okay, okay!" said Alfred, raising his hands in a placating gesture to stop Arthur from continuing. "I'll go find a shirt. C'mon."

Following after Alfred, Arthur re-entered the bedroom. Alfred made a beeline for the chest of drawers and pulled open one. He pulled out a rather large, red shirt, much like the one Arthur was wearing but there was no design upon this one. Only thin blue lines over the shoulder and around the neckline detracted from the purity of the red cloth. Alfred handed it over and Arthur nodded his thanks.

"This should be satisfactory," he told Alfred, holding it up in front of him. It would be a little short on the leg, ending higher than the nightshirts he had worn in Kensington. In fact, it would just be enough to cover himself and no more. "Thank you," he added.

"No probs," answered Alfred. "I'll see ya in the morning."

"Yes. Goodnight, Alfred."

"Night, Arti- Arthur." Alfred grinned at him and left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

When Arthur awoke, he found that the bedsheets had slipped down, tangling around his legs. The shirt he had been wearing had ridden up and, embarrassed, he leapt to his feet and pulled it down as firmly as possible. He glanced around and noticed that Alfred's curtains weren't closed properly and had been letting in the sunlight. It was beaming down onto the pillow where Arthur's head had rested so it was no wonder that he had woken up.

As he yawned, scratching at his head, his hair a complete mess, he realised he needed to relieve himself. He wondered if he could slip across the hall before Alfred found him in his indecent clothing. Well, he told himself, he wouldn't know until he tried.

And try he did. Slowly, as quietly as possible lest the great lout was still asleep, he eased open the bedroom door. Peeking around the corner, he noted no movement. He couldn't hear anything coming from the television nor any voices. As quickly as possibly, he crossed the hall and entered the bathroom.

Once he was done, he washed his hands, pulled his shirt down once more for good measure. Today was the day he would be able to get home, he thought, and opened the door. On the other side was Alfred who looked bleary-eyed and who was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts: he had obviously just woken up. They stared at each other for a few moments. Arthur was horrified at being caught and at the state Alfred was in. Alfred, meanwhile, looked confused; Arthur realised it was likely that he had thought that the time-travelling man had been a dream. Slowly, though, his expression changed to one of... Well, Arthur would say it was appreciation but he must have read it wrong. A blush crept over Alfred's face and Arthur could feel his own embarrassment catching up with him.

"Er, morning," murmured Alfred.

"Good morning," answered Arthur. He stepped to the side to allow Alfred to enter the room, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he did so. The shirt was hanging off one shoulder so he tugged it back up to sit correctly.

Alfred moved in. "I take it you need clothes?"

"If you would not mind," Arthur conceded. "I would like to get dressed before breakfast."

"Right. I'll come in once I'm done."

Nodding, Arthur slipped away and back into the bedroom. There, he sat on the end of the bed, looking at the books within as he waited. It was an eclectic mix of astronomy, physics and some sort of subject about 'software'. Somehow, he had the feeling it would be about those laptops and whatnot.

Finally, Alfred reappeared, stretching his arms over his head. Arthur averted his gaze so as not to see those muscles again. It was quite improper to see anyone undressed. _Although I expect that is only something to be thought of in my time_ , he mused.

"Hey, so, I still don't really have anything for you so I'll just find you a shirt and trousers, 'kay?" explained Alfred as he looked through his wardrobe and chest of drawers. Arthur nodded and merely watched as he pulled out a crumpled set of clothes for both of them. "These are my smallest pair of jeans," said Alfred as he handed a black pair of them to the gentleman.

"Jeans?" asked Arthur, raising an eyebrow.

"The pan- trousers. That's what they're called."

"I see." Arthur accepted a plain, white shirt and another pair of boxers.

"I'll get changed in the living room." Alfred scooped up a pile of clothes and smiled up at Arthur. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"What sorts of things do you have? I prefer bacon and eggs, really. In fact, a full, _proper_ English breakfast is always the best, I feel."

Alfred scrunched his nose up before shaking his head. "Sorry, all I have is cereal."

"And what will you make with the cereal?"

"What?" asked Alfred before pausing to think. "No, man, I meant cereal. As in, breakfast cereal."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aw, c'mon!" cried Alfred, gesturing wildly with one hand as he clutched his clothes in the other. "You gotta know about cereal. Cornflakes and whatever."

"I have _still_ no earthly idea what you're talking about. Is it some form of bread?"

They stared at each other for a moment, Alfred's eyes wide in surprise, Arthur blinking at him in obvious confusion. Then Alfred burst out laughing and shook his head. "Nah, it's- Look, we'll go to some place where you can get a Full English, all right? Don't want you dying from shock or something."

"Oh, hardly," said Arthur with a roll of his eyes. "I do not think anything else can shock me from now on."

Instead of conceding this fact, Alfred smirked. "Wanna bet?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, seeing that as a challenge. "Oh? And what do you intend to bet with?"

"How about you act like a housewi- keeper for me when I win?"

" _If_ you win. And if I win, you will have to... To teach me how everything works and everything about this world."

" _Dude_! That'd take _forever_!"

"Well, then – be glad you also have to help me return home."

They both sobered up then. Arthur averted his gaze, staring at a pile of dirty laundry that Alfred had apparently left when he'd changed at some point. Perhaps Arthur had been rather harsh and should apologise. He cleared his throat just as Alfred took a breath to speak. Glancing back at him, he saw Alfred waiting patiently. Arthur gestured for him to go ahead and speak.

"Um," he said. "I'll just, y'know, go and, er, yeah..." Alfred trailed off and left the room, making sure to close the door behind him. Arthur sighed and turned to his temporary clothes, desperate for food and then a plan on how to get home. He had to get back to Peter.

* * *

Once he had finished changing, Arthur emerged from the room to find Alfred dressed in a baggy pair of blue jeans and a top with some sort of face on it. A speech bubble had it declaring "I am your father". He frowned at it, till Alfred spoke.

"What took you so long?" he asked, putting a hand on his hip.

"It is impossible to get these 'jean' things on." Arthur plucked at the material clinging to one of his legs. "Why on Earth did you procure trousers which were too tight for you?"

In all honesty, Arthur had not been expecting the man to pout. Yet, he did as a blush tinged his cheeks. "I thought they would fit me," he mumbled.

"I see," said Arthur, deciding that breezing past this revelation was for the best if he wished to have any food. "Shall we go?"

"Sure thing! There's this café nearby that we can go to!"

Nodding, Arthur followed Alfred, slipping on the boots he had been wearing when he had been transported. Alfred handed him a jacket of sorts: it was red and had a hood. Apparently, it was called a 'hoodie' and it was entirely too big for Arthur. He put it on, regardless, as Alfred slipped on a bulkier coat, this one seemingly made from leather.

They left the apartment, walking down draughty stairs. At the bottom, Alfred hit a button on the wall before pulling the door open. Arthur decided not to ask. Once outside, Arthur hesitated. He remembered the beastly vehicles from the day before and he was unsure if he was looking forward to contending with them. Alfred seemed to notice his apprehension and nudged his arm with his own.

"Don't worry. If you're gonna get run over, I'll save you."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur shook his head. "I assure you that I can take care of myself."

"Uh huh. Maybe in Victorian London but not here and now."

"Tsk. And what is this 'Victorian' thing you keep mentioning?"

"It's what you call people who lived during the time Queen Victoria was alive. Kinda like..." Alfred trailed off, thinking hard. "Like... Shakespearean times?"

"Do you mean Elizabethan?"

"Uh... I think? Not too hot on British history."

By that point, they had reached the end of the street and turned down another. As they did so, Arthur noted that Alfred had situated himself closest to the road, almost as if he was protecting Arthur. He thought it was sweet but didn't bother to point this out, focussing on his turn of phrase. "'Hot'? What does temperature have to do with history?"

Alfred laughed loudly, garnering the attention of passers-by. Arthur averted his gaze and hoped he could pretend not to be with him. He felt horribly exposed in this version of London: his clothes were too revealing, he felt; there were not enough layers; his hat and cane had been left behind and he felt like he was missing a limb or two. The loud git accompanying him wasn't helping matters.

"Ah! There is is!" said Alfred, suddenly, pointing across the sea of vehicles to the other side of the street. Surprised, Arthur looked at it, noting the seats and tables outside the glass-fronted building. However, he barely registered it before his attention returned to the vehicles rushing past. He slowed and stopped, looking to Alfred for reassurance. Noticing his distress, Alfred smiled at him. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll save you from the cars."

"Right..." said Arthur, slowly. He caught sight of one of the tall red vehicles he had seen the day before and pointed at it. "What is that?"

"It's a bus."

" _That_ is a bus?!" exclaimed Arthur, incredulously, inadvertently drawing the attention of people close to him. Alarmed at their stares, he stepped closer to Alfred who only chuckled.

"Yup. Only Britain has these buses, though. Not something you get in America. Anyways, we'll cross over there." And Alfred pointed to where a crowd of people were waiting patiently. Tugging on his arm, Alfred pulled Arthur closer.

As they drew nearer, Arthur realised that there were what appeared to be strange lights either side of the road, facing the pedestrians rather than the traffic. At the moment, a red light was shining through the shape of a man, standing, his hands on his hips as if impatient. What were these things? He turned to Alfred to ask but, before he could, the American gave a pleased cry and dragged him forward as the crowd surged onwards. Glancing up, Arthur could see that the red man had gone and, underneath it, a green man was running off. The vehicles had come to a standstill and watched as everyone filtered away, now safely on the opposite side. With Alfred holding onto him, he could do little more than hurry after him and into their destination.

"Take a seat," said Alfred, gesturing at the shiny, metal tables squashed into the small room. Identical metal chairs were available for the patrons to sit on. A man with a bright yellow coat of some sort was sipping on a cup of tea, the half-eaten plate of food still before him and his knife and fork in the other hand as he read a newspaper spread open on the table. Opposite them was a counter filled with a selection of cakes. Above it was a board with a menu written on with chalk, the prices beside it. Arthur stared at them. _How much?!_ Hesitantly, he took a seat. Could Alfred afford to buy anything here? After all, Arthur was without money.

He was mightily relieved when Alfred finally returned to his side, having ordered for them. Arthur immediately started questioning him, mindful of keeping his voice low. "What were those lights outside? Were they traffic lights? I heard they were dangerous so why do they have them now? And I cannot let you buy food here – it is much too expensive! It's over five whole pounds for my breakfast!"

"Wha-? It's not all that expensive..." said Alfred, slowly, frowning at him in confusion. After a moment, a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "Ah. Pounds for you was like thousands of pounds now, wasn't it? Don't worry about it, Artie – it's not as expensive as you think it is."

"Arthur!" hissed Arthur. "And that does not help. Explain it better!"

"Dude, I can't. Your crazy British money is insane."

Grumbling, Arthur nodded to the road outside. "And-?"

"Traffic lights. They make crossing the road safer," said Alfred, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, they're 'dangerous'?"

"I heard they exploded – everyone talked about it if you stood watching the policeman at the Great George Street-Bridge Street Junction."

"You heard?" asked Alfred, sounding incredulous.

"I wasn't even two when it happened," Arthur pointed out.

"Oh. Well, these ones are safe. There's loads of 'em, all over the place. No-one's been hurt yet. Well, unless they've malfunctioned and the cars have hit them."

"See?"

They paused their conversation as a busty woman came over and placed a cup of tea in front of Arthur and what looked like a mug of coffee in front of Alfred. The smell of the coffee overpowered the tea till Arthur thankfully brought it to his mouth: then he could smell the Earl Grey. Sighing with bliss, he took a happy sip and relaxed, his shoulders loosening.

"So, anyway," said Alfred after he had taken a sip of his own drink. He placed the cup down and clasped his hands, his elbows leaning on the table. Arthur delicately placed his own cup back on its saucer and looked back at him.

"Hm?" he asked after Alfred had stared at him for entirely too long.

He watched Alfred open his mouth, change his mind, close it and then open it once more to speak. "We'll go to the library after this."

"Indeed."

"We'll have you home in no time."

"Yes, I hope so."

"But if we can't..."

Arthur blinked and frowned. "Pardon?"

"I think we should get you clothes of your own. So we're going shopping tomorrow."

" _What_?" breathed Arthur. "No. Alfred, you can't, you blithering idiot! I've no brea- money."

"Hey, hey," Alfred interrupted. "You'll be home by then, don't worry." He grinned and looked so sure of himself that Arthur could only shake his head as the woman approached their table with their food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I remembered about this thing that spun and had moving pictures and thought Arthur probably knew about that. So I looked it up and, apparently, before animated films, there came the Phenakistoscope which was basically a disc with slits between the pictures which you looked through into a mirror and spun to watch it move. Then, the thing that I remembered, the zoetrope was invented – it's a cylindrical thing which sat on its own stand and spun. You looked through the slits and saw the things moving. It was better because you didn't need a mirror and more people could look it at once. It was invented by William George Horner in 1834 – but it was left alone until it was patented in the US and the UK at the same time in 1887. So Arthur knows about them, too, and probably even owns one. Owned.
> 
> The phonograph was invented in 1877 by Thomas Edison and improved upon by Alexander Graham Bell and Charles Tainter. It used tinfoil wrapped around a cylinder to record things by making marks depending on the vibrations of speech. Later used wax. Then Emile Berliner made the gramophone in 1888. This used flat discs instead of the cylinders and he showed it to a toy company in Germany and produced the first machine in 1889. So I believe that Arthur would know fine well about that – but not about the rest of the sound recording equipment which has come after. Apparently Berliner also invented the microphone in 1876 to improve upon the telephone which had just been invented. And then, in 1878, the carbon microphone was invented by David Edward Hughes. (I also found a site saying Thomas Edison had invented the carbon microphone in 1886 – I have the feeling that particular one was wrong or the guy just took credit for too many bloody things.) In 1931, Wente and A. C. Thuras of Bell laboratories made the moving-coil or dynamic microphone before the ribbon microphone (which became widely used for sound recording) was introduced by RCA (the site for these last two fact is the same one as the Edison thing and I'm not sure if I should trust it – also, RCA makes me think of RAB from Harry Potter. Probably because I'm reading the 6th book just now, shush). I'm not sure if any of these microphones would be used in speeches and the like – you know, people speaking to crowds and stuff. Well, the carbon microphone looks like it would be but I'm not sure if it would have been widely used before Arthur disappears. Let's just pretend he doesn't know about it.
> 
> Snow White and the Seven Dwarves was released in 1937 – Walt Disney's first feature length film.
> 
> In the original story she gives Snow White laces and tightens them too tight then a poisoned comb before the apple which one half is not poisoned and she proves its safe. The dwarves give the prince the coffin and the apple is dislodged when they go over a bump. The queen is forced to wear hot iron shoes and dance till dead at their wedding.
> 
> Pyjamas were introduced to England from India in the 19th century. They got quite popular and, by the 1880s, they were being sold in England. They didn't become a staple of the men's wardrobes till 1930.
> 
> Breakfast in Victorian times: bread, bacon, eggs, devilled kidneys and cold meat, game or fish left from the meal before for the rich people. Poorer people had breakfast in cafés/coffee houses: bread, eggs, bacon, chops, fish, etc. The really poor would only have a few slices of buttered bread and a pint of tea or coffee. (The tea would be weak and bad and the bread would be thin.) Obviously, what the rich ate depended on the area they were in.
> 
> Will Keith Kellogg founded the W. K. Kellogg Foundation in 1906 because his brother, Dr. John Harvey Kellogg accidentally invented cornflakes while trying to find a healthier breakfast for his patients. This was invented in 1894 and then became widespread in 1906. The only breakfast cereal before that was invented by an American in 1863 – Granola invented by James Caleb Jackson – and it never caught on because you had to go through the trouble of soaking the bran nuggets overnight.
> 
> The first traffic lights were invented by a man named John Peake Knight. It was erected at the junction between Great George Street and Bridge Street in London (it's near Westminster) at the tail end of 1868. It was basically semaphore arms but had red and green lights at night. Unfortunately, three weeks after it was erected, on the 2nd of January, 1869, there was a gas leak and the light exploded into a policeman's face. Deemed unsafe, it was removed and there were no traffic lights till 1929.
> 
> British money was decimalised on the 15th of February 1971. Christopher Ironside started designing them ten years earlier because he won a competition but then had to enter another one after 5 years.I think 5 Victorian pounds is equivalent to £4320 nowadays.


	4. Reading Time

Once they had finished eating, Alfred yawned and stretched. "Right, well, let's get going," he said. "We've gotta go on the- Well, the English call it the Tube, y'know."

"The Tube?" Arthur frowned at Alfred as they stood and snaked their way around the tables.

"Yeah. The Underground."

"Ah, yes," Arthur replied, automatically. Then the realisation hit him and he chewed on his lip. "We... _Must_ we go down there?"

"It's the easiest way and there's a station not far from here."

Another thing that had changed: Arthur didn't recall there being a station around this part of London. He frowned. "Wait a moment... How many stations does the Under... _Tube_ have now?"

Alfred shrugged and stopped at the edge of the walkway. "I dunno. Like, a hundred? There's a lot. And loadsa different lines, too."

"I do not know if I am overly fond of this idea."

"Aw, c'mon," Alfred said. He gripped Arthur's elbow and led him across the road as the vehicles stopped at a crossing. The taller of the two waited until they had crossed safely before continuing. "It's easier. You don't needta know what stop to get off at like if we were getting the bus and a cab is way too expensive. 'Specially from here to there."

"Hm," said Arthur. He was tempted to demand a cab (or maybe a horse and cart – the automobiles in this century went too fast for his liking) but the mention of money made him realise that he didn't want to be indebted to Alfred any more than he already was. Perhaps he could leave behind his expensive cane when he returned to the past – Alfred could probably get a lot of money selling it.

He was jostled from his thoughts by Alfred shaking him slightly. "Ha, dude, you drifted off there. Didja hear what I said?"

"Oh! I apologise. I was just thinking of-" He broke off and shook his head: bringing up his return to the past would make the atmosphere between them awkward. "Never mind. What was it you said?"

"I was just telling you about this rad little card called an Oyster Card. It's pretty handy."

"Oyster Card? What is it?"

"It's this thing that helps you travel through London," Alfred explained as he stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a flat bit of leather. Opening it up, he began searching through the little pockets. Arthur waited patiently, glancing around to make sure they weren't going to bump into anyone as they continued onwards. Finally, Alfred said, "Ah!" and Arthur turned to find him brandishing what looked to be some sort of rectangular, blue... Well, to be honest, it looked like it could be a card of some sort except that it wasn't made of paper and was slightly thicker. "You just put money on it and then you swipe it against the scanner and boom! You get through without having to wait on a paper ticket and change and stuff."

"I do not understand," Arthur said, reaching for it. Alfred let him take it to examine it. Turning it over, he read the information on the back (which didn't help his confusion) before turning it back over and staring at it.

Alfred pulled him gently out of the way of a couple of girls before he answered. "It's... Well, all the cards have a different number and a different... like... barcode, I guess."

Arthur gave him a blank look and Alfred grimaced.

"Look, it's like... the TV remote, I suppose. There's this... thing... that connects with it and scans it. That's like looking over it carefully. And then it registers how much money the person has paid for it and it takes it off. Except, once the money's run out, you just pay again and you get to keep the card and continue using it. Does that make sense?"

"Mm, a little. So you are saying that you do not use money?"

"Yeah! It's kinda like a credit card!" At Arthur's surprised look, Alfred took back the card and showed him the inside of what Arthur decided must be a purse. "You get all sorts of cards to do with money."

"Is that how you paid for breakfast?" asked Arthur, thinking that this was the most futuristic thing he had seen since arriving bar the television and laptop.

"Nah. I used, y'know, paper money."

"Ah," said Arthur, wondering why, if the future had things which made money unnecessary, people still used paper money. "Does that mean you will have to buy me one?"

"Ehh..." said Alfred, falling silent for a while as they continued walking. They turned into another street and Alfred seemed to make his decision. "Nah. I'll get you a paper one." He didn't expand on that but Arthur figured it made sense: when he left, there was no point in Alfred having two of the cards.

The street they were on seemed to house their destination as Alfred made a beeline for a building with a blue sign wrapped around it. Attached to the wall was another sign, jutting out from the building. That one was a red circle with a blue line through it. Arthur followed along as Alfred marched up to the doorway, joining the crowd filtering inside.

There, the foyer was large and white and Arthur looked around in amazement. It looked a lot cleaner than he had expected – from what he had heard in his time, the trains were powered by steam on the Underground. Or had that changed, too? If he recalled correctly, there had been electric trams in cities outside of London, though he'd never been to see them. If they could have more than lights powered by electricity within the home, what was to stop everything else being powered by that, too?

Were the automobiles powered by electricity, too?

Arthur shook his head. They couldn't be: he hadn't seen any cables poking out of them.

Alfred stopped in front of a rectangular box with what appeared to be a small television enclosed in it. Blinking in surprise, Arthur watched as Alfred began to tap at it. The layout changed and changed again as Alfred worked away.

"What is this?" asked Arthur, keeping his voice low. He wasn't too fond of having people staring at them if they were overheard.

"Huh?" Alfred glanced at him, seeming a little absent-minded.

"How are you changing it? You have no... hm... 'remote'. And no... 'controller'."

"Oh, right," said Alfred as he pulled out his purse again. "It's a touch screen."

Deciding not to bother asking, Arthur watched as Alfred began to insert several strange coins into a small slot set to the side of the screen. He was surprised to see that they were completely different from the coins he used in his time. How much had he inserted? It didn't look like much but, perhaps, it was a lot. He hoped he had the chance to pay him back.

Finally, something was ejected from the machine. Alfred snagged the little piece of card and Arthur stared at it. "Here's your ticket," Alfred told him, holding it out. Arthur took and examined it, surprised by the fact that the information had been stamped on. Where were the people? Shouldn't they have spoken to someone? That was how it _had_ worked. The future kept becoming stranger and stranger.

However, he didn't get the chance to ponder on the advancements of technology for much longer for Alfred pulled him away, readying his Oyster Card to get through a barrier in the corner of the huge room. Arthur could see that there were several large, grey blocks separated by little gates which stopped people from reaching the platform. The grey blocks had yellow circles upon which people were pressing their Oyster Cards. That seemed to open the gates and they passed through without much problem.

Leaning over, Alfred spoke into Arthur's ear (entirely too close to the Londoner for his comfort). "You just needta put the ticket in the slot. It'll come out the top: grab it and come on through." And, with that, Alfred left his side and passed through the gate effortlessly. Arthur almost wished he'd come back, seeing as he had felt much better in the crowds outside when Alfred was close by. However, there was no point in making Alfred come back to help him. Squaring his shoulders, Arthur strode up to the gate and paused. He stuck the ticket into the slot as instructed and watched it reappear above the box. There was a beeping noise and the gate remained closed. Arthur took the ticket and bit his lip, glancing up at Alfred who was watching him.

"Turn it around!" Alfred called to him, miming what he meant as if Arthur was incapable of understanding his words.

With a roll of his eyes, he did so and pushed it through. This time, it worked and he collected the ticket as he made his way through, eyeing the gates warily. On the other side, Alfred grinned at him and beckoned for Arthur to follow. He did so without comment.

At least, he did for a few feet until he saw what was facing him.

Grabbing Alfred's arm, he pulled him to the side. "What the blazes is that?!" he hissed, glaring at the obstacle.

"Huh?" Alfred followed his gaze and frowned. "Uh, it's an escalator." Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. "Oh. Right. Er." He scratched his head as Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed and unnerved. "It's just a set of stairs that move."

"What on...? Why would you need stairs to _move_?"

"Well, it's quicker and it means there ain't loadsa people all squashed into an elevator."

Arthur peeked at the moving stairs – the _escalator_ – and gulped. What would happen if he fell over? Would he just keep moving down and down until he died? What if he was separated from Alfred? _What if it led down into the depths of Hell itself?_ Perhaps he was being ridiculous but he had never liked the idea of being _underground_. What if he got _buried alive_?

"Hey, you okay?" asked Alfred, his eyes wide. "You're breathing kinda fast..."

Indeed, Arthur's rate of breathing had picked up and he was panting, finding it hard to breathe. This was too much. Everything all at once was too much. He had been coping well so far but this was just far beyond what he had only just gotten used to. Humanity had developed so much that they now had no need to _move_? And he was stuck here. What if he couldn't get back? What would he do if he couldn't get back to Peter?

"Hey, hey!" said Alfred, suddenly in Arthur's face. His hands were gripping Arthur's shoulders and he looked rather panicked. "It's all right. Look, we can just go get the bus if you don't-"

Shaking his head, Arthur took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Finally, he said, "No. I-I am fine. It is just... everything at once..."

"Oh. Like a massive culture shock," said Alfred, straightening up, though his hands remained on Arthur's shoulders. "Maybe I should have just left you at home."

"No, I think this is for the best. We have no idea how long I will be here for so I will need to get used to these sorts of things." He decided not to tell Alfred about his slight apprehension, as it were. It made him feel foolish and he would have to handle this as he had done with everything else in his life so far.

"Are you sure?" asked Alfred, frowning at him.

"I am. I can handle this." Arthur reasoned with himself that people came and went on this thing all the time. He shouldn't be thinking of the dead and graves and holes in the ground... Shuddering, he stepped away from Alfred and out of his grip. "I do not want to inconvenience you. And this is faster, is it not?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Well, I wish to figure out what happened as quickly as possible and this will speed things up – yes?"

"I suppose."

"There is only one problem," Arthur added as he glanced at the moving stairs. "Could you help me get on?"

"Sure. Here," Alfred held out a hand and Arthur surveyed it with a frown. "Take my hand."

Wrinkling his nose, Arthur realised he could see no other way for Alfred to help. Reluctantly, he placed his hand in Alfred's and heaved a sigh. "Let us go, then."

Alfred led him to the edge of the escalator. Arthur watched the metal fly past, seeming too fast to step on. How were other people doing this effortlessly? Alfred pulled him to the side slightly to let other people pass. "Sorry," Arthur heard Alfred say to people behind him. "He's not a fan of escalators, y'know?"

"Oh!" said a young woman behind them. Arthur glanced at her and she sent him an encouraging smile. "I'll let you get on first, then."

"Thanks!" exclaimed Alfred and turned to Arthur. Lowering his voice, the American said, "Aim for between the, like, rectangles, all right? And just step on as if... As if you're using stepping stones!"

Arthur had never used stepping stones but he decided not to tell Alfred that. Instead, he gripped Alfred's hand tightly, took a breath, and stepped on it. For a moment, he was ecstatic that he had managed it – then it moved, leaving his other leg behind. He cried out at the same instant an arm wrapped around his waist and lifted him, pulling him backwards. Once he was set on solid ground, Arthur panted and glanced at Alfred who looked rather pale.

"You need to put _both feet_ on it," Alfred murmured. "Let's try that again. I'll step on at the same time so you have someone to hold onto, okay?"

"R-Right," said Arthur, nodding. His heart was still beating fast and he eyed the whirring stairs with disdain.

"On three," Alfred told him, tightening his grip on Arthur's hand. "One. Two. Three!"

They stepped forward and both of them got their first foot on the step. Arthur hurriedly brought his other foot forward and, thankfully, managed to find himself standing on the moving stair, wobbling slightly.

"You did it!" cried Alfred, raising their joined hands in celebration. Then he did something unexpected: he stepped onto the stair below.

"Wha-?"

"Here." Alfred pulled Arthur's hand to the side. "Shuffle over and hold onto the bannister so you don't fall."

"Right..." said Arthur. Hesitantly, he extricated his hand from Alfred's and placed it on the black material. Apparently, that moved, too. Gripping it tightly, he moved over so that he was closer and could catch himself on it if he needed to.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Alfred piped up. Arthur glanced at Alfred to see he was standing backwards, holding onto the bannister and smiling reassuringly up at him. He grimaced at the American who laughed. "Don't worry so much. We've got another minute before we can get off."

"A minute?" Arthur felt a little dazed.

"Yeah! This is the longest esca- Ah. You probably don't want to know that, huh?" Alfred grimaced at his words.

"No. No, I do not."

"Ha," said Alfred without humour.

They stared at each other for what felt like a minute but obviously wasn't as the escalator was still carrying them downwards when Alfred finally turned around. Arthur breathed deeply, calming himself. His outburst had been silly, he mused, and he would have to apologise later: he probably looked incredibly stupid and had drawn too much attention.

Finally, Arthur could see the end and sighed in relief – only to stiffen when he realised that he would have to get off. Alfred seemed to have realised Arthur would be uncomfortable as he turned so he was facing Arthur side on.

"Just step off like you did at the start. It's kinda like... timing when to jump onto a passing horse."

That had never been something he had heard happening, never mind done himself. However, he vowed to do his best and fixed his eyes on the step Alfred was standing on. All too quickly, he watched as Alfred's step approached the end of the track and Alfred stepped off. Arthur braced himself and waited a second more. With a gasp, he practically threw himself off the moving staircase. Alfred pulled him out of the way before he let him pause for breath.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Arthur said, firmly, taking deep breaths. Then he blinked, surprised. Looking up, he found himself in a hallway with a domed ceiling, untouchable without a ladder. People hurried by but they weren't squashed together as he had feared; they kept their distance as they hurried by. Beyond them, were two doorways. "It's... big. Bigger than I thought it would be, at any rate."

"Yeah, 'course. C'mon. This way." Alfred turned towards one of the openings and Arthur followed along behind. The room they found themselves housed a platform, the track beyond it looping away through some tunnels. Arthur marvelled at it: he had never been able to imagine what it would be like down here and he was stunned that there was no feeling of being squashed and packed into a coffin as he had thought.

"How long till the next train?" Arthur asked Alfred, fishing for something to say.

Alfred glanced away, looking for something in particular before saying, "It should just be a couple more minutes." He turned back to Arthur. "I'll grab your hand when we're getting on so we don't get separated. I don't want you to end up lost."

Crinkling his nose at the suggestion (touching people in public was not exactly something he felt comfortable with), Arthur sighed. "Fine." Alfred merely raised an eyebrow at his response.

It didn't take too much longer until the train arrived and Arthur marvelled at it. The carriages were sleek and white, rounded slightly to fit into the tunnels, he presumed. There was a binging noise and then all Hell seemed to break loose as two different crowds of people pushed and pulled to either get on or off the train. Arthur was frozen, staring at the carnage, until he felt his hand being grabbed and he was plunged into the horror. By the time Alfred had pulled him onto the train, he had apologised several times as the American barged past people. Obviously, Alfred didn't care too much what people thought of him.

"Here. Hold onto this," said Alfred, raising his hand again to let Arthur grab hold of a shiny handle above their heads. Arthur sent Alfred a quizzical look and his companion shrugged. "There aren't any seats."

He was correct: not only were the seats being used, there were a lot of people balancing themselves in the aisle which ran up the middle. "Ah," was all he said in response.

"Hold on tight, all right? It goes pretty fast and there's a big bend up ahead."

* * *

When they eventually disembarked at Colindale Station, Arthur was relieved to find that there were _stationary_ stairs. Alfred had laughed at his barely concealed joy: Arthur had stuck his nose in the air and marched off without him. After enduring the confusion of the gates once more, he returned to following Alfred's lead as they walked down the street.

"Here we are," said Alfred a few moments later and gesturing with his hands. "Told you the subway was quicker."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he gazed up at the old building. He had never actually been to Colindale and so didn't recognise the sandstone structure, its pillars looming above them. The glass doors seemed rather out of place atop the large steps. A sign above declared it to be the _British Library: Newspapers_. "Shall we, then?" Arthur said, beginning to climb them.

Alfred nodded and followed his lead. At the top, they both paused to read the signs affixed to the door. "Huh. Didn't realise it was moving," said Alfred, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"I wonder why..."

"Dunno. C'mon, let's go in."

Obediently, Arthur grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open, relieved that something as simple as _doors_ hadn't been motorised. He chuckled quietly to himself as he followed Alfred in: motorised doors was such a ridiculous concept. Of course there wouldn't be doors which moved on their own. It would likely let all the heat out, for one thing.

"Hey," said Alfred, drawing Arthur from his thoughts. "Why don't you have a look 'round and, I dunno, catch up on stuff you wanna know about? I'll get the right paper and stuff, all right?"

"You will come to retrieve me once you find something, yes?" Arthur asked, unwilling to let Alfred leave him out of the search. Surely his knowledge on the newspapers of that time would help?

"Nah, dude. I'm gonna have to use this microfilm thing and you won't understand how to work it."

"You could teach me."

Sighing, Alfred ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the chandelier above them as if in thought. "If you wanna go back, it's probably not a good idea to see everything that'll happen in the future. You could do major damage to the- to history. And just... I think it'd be best if I look for it instead of you, yeah?" He glanced at Arthur, waiting for his reaction.

Considering his point, Arthur slowly nodded. "All right. Well... I shall find you later."

"No problem! See ya!" Alfred declared – entirely too loud for a library. Arthur rolled his eyes and began his exploration.

The room they were in was large and spacious, numerous desks dotted about. Soft chairs were tucked under some, being used by others. A librarian sat behind a circular station which was so tall, Arthur couldn't see what she was doing. Several rows of shelves held what appeared to be journals and large folders. At the back of the room was a door leading to the stairs and another set of double doors. Beside the double doors was a sign and Arthur headed towards it.

_British News Throughout the Ages. New exhibition. Free._

Seeing as he had been 'let loose' as it were, he entered and found himself in a room with a row of boards set up, snaking around so as to fit as many as possible. Each board had a sheet of paper stuck to it. The light was duller than the main room so Arthur had to move closer to read the first one. Apparently, it was a copy of the oldest surviving newspaper.

_Ah_ , thought Arthur. _This will be most interesting_.

And it was – until Arthur found himself staring in shock at certain newspaper headlines from after 1890...

* * *

Alfred was upstairs when Arthur finally found him, dragging one of the free copies of 'Your Favourite Headlines' with him. He was staring at something that looked like a laptop, only bigger so Arthur presumed it was some sort of a computer. Rushing over, he hissed the man's name; Alfred blinked and turned towards him.

"What are these?!" Arthur demanded, shoving several sheets out to him.

The first one was from the 5th of August, 1914, and read: ENGLAND AND GERMANY AT WAR. Not waiting for Alfred to take them, Arthur began to flick through them. All of them detailed various stages in something which the little placards had called WWI and WWII and the last one he had brought with him claimed that a gigantic bomb had been dropped on _Japan_ of all places.

"Er," said Alfred, leaning on the desk in an odd position. It obscured the screen he was working on but Arthur ignored that at the moment. "It's... It's just..." He gave Arthur a pained expression, as if he didn't quite know how to explain it. "They're newspaper headlines?"

" _World Wars_? How could this happen? This is- I would be alive when this was happening. _Peter_ would-" Arthur broke off, feeling his heart clench at the thought. He may be too old by 1914 but Peter would have been old enough to join the army and young enough to _want_ to go. Would he end up involved? Could he stop him when he returned home?"

"Peter?" asked Alfred. "Your brother?"

Blinking, Arthur returned his gaze to Alfred's. "Yes." Registering his words, he looked at the computer with interest. "Did you find anything-?"

"No!" Alfred exclaimed, a little too loudly and quickly. He shifted again, moving into Arthur's view.

Frowning, Arthur moved again to try to look over his shoulder. "Well, if you have not found anything, I shall help-"

"You can't! It's... very complicated."

Now Arthur glared at Alfred; he was acting very suspiciously. "Alfred. What is going on?"

"Nothing!"

"Then let me see the computer!"

"I-"

Frustrated with Alfred's behaviour, Arthur shoved at him. Alfred overbalanced and the chair rolled away. Arthur spared a glance at the legs and found that there were small wheels attached. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the computer. On the visual part was the image of a browned newspaper. He glanced at the headlines and dismissed all of them – except for one.

_ TOY MAKER DISAPPEARANCE _

_It has been a week since the disappearance of Mr. Arthur Kirkland, Esquire._

_Kirkland, the brilliant mind behind the popular Britannia's Angels toy line, was reported missing last Wednesday after failing to return home from a party._

_Reports tell us that Kirkland refused the offer of a carriage ride home and opted to walk home from King's College. Since no body was found in the area between there and Kensington, the authorities are still searching for any signs of his movements and ask people come forward._

_Kirkland's business partner, a Mr. James Brown, Esquire, has taken over the running of their business and has reluctantly taken control of Kirkland's finances._

_'I hope he is found soon,' says Brown. 'His toys are perfect and children love them. It would be a shame to lose such a brilliant mind.'_

_Meanwhile, Kirkland's housekeeper has spoken out against those involved in Kirkland's affairs. 'They're treating poor Peter quite horribly,' she says, referring to Kirkland's little brother, 10 years old. 'He is an ill boy and should not be stressed any further than he already is.'_

The article stopped there and Arthur stared at the words, the letters blurring. Mr. Brown had taken over his business and finances? Surely they should have given his money to his family, to Peter? If Peter received none of it, would they throw him out? Would James help him?

He doubted it, considering his reaction to Arthur bringing his brother with him a couple of years ago.

"No," he whispered. Peter was alone and ill. Had he died without anyone to help him?

Had he died alone, because of Arthur?

Was that better than him being in these World Wars?

"Hey," came Alfred's voice, a hand landing on Arthur's arm. "It's not as if it's set in stone. I don't know why you're so upset, but you'll get home and be with your brother, 'kay?"

"It is written already," said Arthur, his voice thick as he tried not to let himself give into his emotions. "Surely that means that Fate and God have chosen for this to happen?"

"Nah, man. Time travel is weird," Alfred explained, though he didn't look very certain. "When you go back, it'll rewrite everything and you'll still have your business and your money and stuff. Besides, maybe you reappear _after_ this was written."

Arthur stared at Alfred. The man looked earnest and Arthur wanted to believe him, wanted to thank him, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. All he did was nod and duck his head.

"I think we should call it a day," said Alfred, fiddling around with the computer. "Let's get you... back to mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Arthur never went on the Underground before. I saw him as a person who preferred being above ground because of the rest of his back story but I also figured he might have gone there because it was 'new'. So I made a decision and gave him a slight fear of being underground. I also think he would have been better about going down if it had been stationary stairs but the escalators take away his control - and I combined my sister's dislike of escalators with my reaction to heights. (I hyperventilated before I even got to the end of a queue for a rollercoaster in Alton Towers ages ago so...)
> 
> I think that's all the story points I wanted to talk about and so here are the historical notes:
> 
> [Public libraries](http://spartacus-educational.com/Llibrary.htm) were established in 1850 after three men put forward the legislation for it: William Ewart, Joseph Brotherton and Edward Edwards. It was amended in 1853 to extend to Scotland and Ireland and then amended further in 1855 so the levy was raised. So libraries existed in Arthur's time (something I decided to check).
> 
> British Library Newspapers is a real place in Colindale. It houses newspapers from 1801 onwards so it's the best place for them to go. Or, rather, it was until they moved everything to different libraries in November of 2013. This part of the story takes place in September, so.
> 
> Construction on [the Tube](https://tfl.gov.uk/corporate/about-tfl/culture-and-heritage/londons-transport-a-history/london-underground/a-brief-history-of-the-underground) started in 1843 with the Thames Tunnel. However, the trains didn't start travelling on the lines until 1869. The trains were all steam powered so all the tunnels had vents to clear the smoke and steam. The Circle Line (though it wasn't called that at the time) was completed in 1884. The lines didn't start getting electrified until 1890 and they weren't opened until the 18th of December that year – so Arthur missed it completely. The lines that were open (though they were all extended during the 19th Century and after Arthur disappeared) before Arthur was transported to the future were: Circle Line, District Line, Hammersmith & City Line, Metropolitan Line, part of what's now the Northern Line which was the City & South London Railway, and the Waterloo & City Line. So, in other words, there was less to the Tube than nowadays.
> 
> The Oyster card was introduced on the 30th of June, 2003 so it's just over ten years old in this story.
> 
> Angel station is close to where I've roughly put Alfred living. It's on the Northern Line. Angel station has the longest escalators in the Tube system and is the fourth longest in Western Europe. I've never been to Angel Station nor did the pictures on Google help much so I've taken liberties as to where the gates are situated and what it looks like.
> 
> Escalators were not invented till 1892 so Arthur wouldn't have seen one. (There was a patent for a steam driven unit which would be part of the first escalators – from what I can make out – in 1855 but, as I've said, Arthur's not all that interested in that sort of thing unless it directly impacted his life so he didn't know about it too much. Probably.)
> 
> According to the BBC news website (which had an article on the recent installation of trams in Edinburgh – I say recent, I think they were finished last year), the first electric trams were in Germany in 1881. Four years later, Blackpool had one. Presumably London, too. Before that, it was all steam, the first one was in 1885 – but they were noisy and people thought they would explode. So, obviously, that didn't work out too well. The last tram to run in London (the old kind that people from the Victorian era would be aware of – there are modern ones running in South London. And through the centre of Edinburgh – that was a hell of a hullabaloo) was in 1952. Thousands turned up to see it off. Double decker buses existed in the form of a horse drawn one from as early as 1847 (before that, the omnibuses were single decks from as early as the 1820s). They weren't popular till 1852 when John Greenwood introduced a bigger one (which needed three horses). The last horse drawn one operated on the 4th of August 1914 due to the introduction of the combustion engine and WWI. (Rural horse drawn buses continued operating till 1932.) Routemaster London buses – those famous red double deckers – was first built in 1954. So, when Alfred mentions that it's been 'hundreds of years' since London had trams, he is woefully inadequate in his knowledge and should really get himself to the transport museum. Huh. There's a thought...

**Author's Note:**

> By 1890, cars had been invented but they hadn't really become widespread. (At least, that's what I think the site said.) But, whether or not there would have been, they probably looked entirely different from all the fancy cars nowadays. Now I sound old. Splendid.
> 
> Trafalgar Square has been refurbished/transformed/whatever they're calling it since the Victorian times. I think there's a central staircase and there was mentions of a café (though, no matter how much I searched, I kinda got back to the same site/page which didn't seem to say much on the subject of the café and I gave up and just didn't mention it). They moved the Imperial Measures from the north wall to alongside the staircase. Apparently.
> 
> A pole is the same length as a perch, according to a picture of the Imperial Measures. Not entirely sure how long it was in today's terms, though...
> 
> The typewriter was invented in, like, the first half of the 1800s. By several different people perfecting it. So, basically, Arthur knows what it is. (Which surprised me, I have to say.)
> 
> Batteries can be found since the Stone Age. The modern battery was actually developed during the 1800s as well by several different people using different materials. 'Course, Arthur probably wouldn't recognise the one in the laptop but, hey ho, he's not seen it yet. (I was surprised that they had batteries in the 1800s, too. The more you know.)
> 
> Victorians did not call themselves Victorians.
> 
> The reason this is set in 2013 is cause I wanted them to be the same age. (For no real reason, just easier for me not to have to work with differences and the evil that is numbers...) I decided on 1890 being the time Arthur was lifted from, which meant he was born in 1867 (if my Maths held out. O.o). I also wanted Alfred to be born in 1990 so that he's born a hundred years after Artie was taken from his own time. However, I also wanted him to be just starting back at his university in London (which I'm sure will be discussed in much more detail later) which would be September. And that would make him already 24 in 2014. So I went with 2013 for when this is taking place.


End file.
